


(Not) A Date

by Socket



Category: Holby City
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/F, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-11
Updated: 2016-11-11
Packaged: 2018-08-30 07:17:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8523685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Socket/pseuds/Socket
Summary: Bernie and Serena dine out at an Italian restaurant. It’s not a date (well it is). It’s a friend’s thing and definitely not a date (only it is).





	

**Timeline:** Set between “Emotionally Yours” and “Life In The Freezer”

Since Serena broke the ice; in her inimitable forthright way, they’ve been speaking again. Things have gradually eased between them. The tension has ebbed. Now they’re teasing each other and it’s nice, so nice to have that back… but with it comes the looks. Long lingering looks. Only this time Bernie sees Serena returning them. Only this time Serena picks-up on Bernie always saying the opposite of what she means.

It’s three days since Serena invited Bernie to join herself and Ric for a drink and Bernie feels ready now, to spend time alone with her. Secretly pinning for Serena has been the worst. 

They’re in their office. Serena is tapping away on the keyboard of her computer; immersed in a report. Jason’s out with his girlfriend so Bernie knows Serena doesn’t have to rush off anywhere tonight. Her shift is about to end. She stretches leisurely, sighing gently. Trying to mask the erratic beat of her heart as she finally gathers her courage and tries to keep her tone nonchalant as she says; “Don’t suppose you fancy grabbing something to eat?”

The clatter of keys stops. Serena bites her lip, her eyes flicker up to settle on Bernie. She smiles softly. “Sure.”

Bernie smiles casually. “Good. What tickles your fancy?”

Serena has to stop her eyebrow quirking in amusement.

Against her will, a slight blush rises in Bernie’s cheek. “To eat,” she adds quickly. A little too quickly.

“There’s an Italian restaurant just opened up on Park Street,” Serena suggests.

Bernie nods decisively; funny how she can be so decisive in all aspects of her life but the matters of her heart. 

She stands and slips on her coat. Serena switches off her computer and gathers her things. 

On the walk to the restaurant they fall into easy banter, discuss the day’s antics and laugh. It’s light and it’s easy and it’s exactly what they need; to get back some normalcy after all the drama and awkwardness of the last few weeks. It’s such a relief to have her friend back, even fleetingly.

They cross the street and move towards the restaurant. Serena catches the name and her breath catches for a fraction of a second, she hadn’t taken in the name before but there it was in big glaring letters; _Innamorata_. She glances nervously at Bernie, who is oblivious and then Serena gratefully remembers Bernie took French at school, not Italian.

As Serena moves to open the door, Bernie automatically rushes forward to hold it for her. Their eyes meet and Bernie indicates for Serena to go first. Serena dips her head slightly in thanks. A coy smile on her lips.

Bernie follows her in, feeling clumsy and nervous and why did this suddenly seem like a bad idea? Why did she feel like they were on a date?

The waiter moves towards them, with the chiselled features of a model from _Abercrombie & Fitch_. “Table for two?” he asks.

Serena glances at Bernie hesitantly, then turns her attention back to the waiter. “Yes.”

He leads them to a table in the corner, it’s quiet, the candlelight is intimate and soft music plays in the background. It’s a romantic setting, the kind of place lovers come to (not friends desperately trying not to acknowledge their undeniable sexual chemistry).

They are seated and handed menus. 

Serena instantly flicks to the wine list. Her eyes widen with delight and Bernie stifles a grin; there must be a spectacular red wine selection.

Serena happily orders a bottle for them to share and Bernie tries not to balk at the price. The waiter trails off to get their drinks and they’re left in peace to study the menu.

The soft refrain of the string quartet music drifts over the sound system and the flickering of the candlelight highlights Serena’s cheekbones and the pale skin of her throat and her warm eyes dance with unspoken promise which makes Bernie flush hot all over. 

Why hadn’t she suggested they go to _Albie’s_ like usual? Or somewhere insipid, like _Pizza Hut_. It was difficult to send the wrong signals at _Pizza Hut_. They couldn’t exactly stare wantonly at each other across the salad bar, under garish lights, could they?

Serena glanced up, her hand unconsciously flits to her neck and plays nervously with the pendant there.

Bernie tries desperately not to stare; she finds it adorable when Serena does that.

“See anything you like?” the brunette asks.

Bernie has to bite the inside of her cheek to stop from making an inappropriate retort. “Mmm,” she managed and cast her eyes back down to the menu.

Just then the waiter reappeared with the wine and his notepad.

They order quickly; this wasn’t really about dinning out on fine food it was about building bridges, being comfortable with each other again.

The waiter quickly scuttled off.

Serena took a sip of the wine and closed her eyes, sighing in delight.

Bernie broke into a grin. “If you two want to be alone…”

Serena laughed. Her eyes gleamed and Bernie’s heart stuttered to a halt. She’d missed this. Missed Serena like crazy. Stupid really; neither of them had gone anywhere but there’d been a chasm between them.

Serena’s grip tightened on the stem of her glass. She felt nervous. She’d wanted to get Bernie alone, to have the chance to talk properly… without interruption. To hint that maybe she didn’t want to confine what they had to theatre, that maybe, just maybe she’d like more. Much more. 

It worried her, not because she feared her own feelings (Serena has always been true to her heart even when it overruled her head) but because she was scared that any talk of romance would scare Bernie off. The blonde seemed adamant that they should remain friends but Serena could understand, given the recent catastrophe of Bernie’s love life, that she would be resistant to opening herself up again, to the potential for hurt.

Well, Serena hadn’t exactly had smooth seas in the love department either but she wasn’t about to give up hope. Certainly not when it felt so right between them. It was such a rarity to find someone you could be yourself with, someone you could confide in. Someone who, quite literally, stole your breath every time you looked at them.

Serena hates uncertainty, hates transience, hates not being in control… and then Bernice Wolfe happened and she’s not sure she’s ever been this happy. Organised chaos; that was Bernie. Sweeping in, stirring everything up and then blazing so brilliantly it was blinding.

The conversation flowed as readily as the wine, it only faltered around the edges at odd moments. Like when they both reached for the bread basket at the same time and their hands brushed. They both pulled back automatically and exchanged a nervous and exuberant laugh. Or when the waiter brought their starters and flirted mercilessly with Serena - sending Bernie into a snippy sulk for the best part of ten minutes. Or when Bernie finished her bruschetta and licked her fingers clean only to glance up and catch Serena’s darkened eyes smouldering at her.

These odd moments catch them out because they’re unused to them and don’t know what to do with them. 

Serena longs to say; _'Can we talk about this now?'_ But it sounds too incidental and Bernie isn’t casual. Nor is she. They can’t do half measures. It’s all in or all out. That’s why this is so terrifying.

“The steak looks tasty,” Bernie says. Filling the silence because she can’t stand the fierce looks and soppy violin music a second longer. “I’m glad we’re doing this.” Because she wants to reassure Serena. Wants to convey all the relief and gratitude that things are getting back to… normal. Wants Serena to understand that she’s important… She can’t say Serena’s the most important thing in her life –that would freak her out. Bernie bites her cheek. She’s measured in silence, in discipline but Serena makes her want to burst forth and that petrifies her. She’s never lost control like this. Never spontaneously kissed someone… she’s always been the reciprocator.

Marcus made the first move. In the back row of a cinema in Crouch End. Alex made the first move. In a Red Cross tent in Afghanistan. Serena is the first person she’s chosen to kiss. It’s an alien sensation. Bernie is an expert in self-control but there’s something about Serena, something deliciously irresistible. She’s never wanted anyone this desperately. Never been this reckless before.

Serena’s learned not to push Bernie, learned to let the blonde come round to things in her own time. 

“I’m glad we’re doing this too,” the brunette says and lifts up the empty wine bottle and her heart sinks. _Well shit._ She needs more alcohol to pursue this conversation.

The second bottle Serena orders is _Ripassa;_ her lips are already stained ruby-red and Bernie’s fingers itch to pull Serena close and kiss her passionately.

“What?” Serena demands, catching Bernie staring at her. She misreads lust for disapproval and rolls her eyes. “Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it.”

“You seem to be enjoying yourself plenty,” Bernie mocks.

“It’s delicious. Has an intense bouquet. It is full bodied, harmonic and velvety smooth.”

Bernie grins. “Bit like you!”

Serena snorts. “Nothing like me.”

Bernie raises her eyebrows. “Please, your voice is the epitome of velvety smooth.”

Serena smirks. She takes a sip of wine, her eyes never leaving Bernie’s and the blonde feels a shiver run down her spine. They’re dangerously close to something. An admission. A declaration. So Bernie veers off topic. Bernie’s never felt so close to the brink. One step… one false step and the earth would crumble beneath her. Serena would collapse under the weight of her intentions.

“Where’s Jason?” the blonde flounders.

Serena’s stomach drops at this change of subject but she gives Bernie a fond smile; the smile she always wears when Bernie mentions a certain nephew.

“Preoccupied.”

“Oh?”

“He’s taking his girlfriend to the pictures.”

They eat bread sticks and wait for their main meal. There’s an unspoken agreement. An indecipherable code. As long as they don’t mention it; this irrefutable attraction, they can pretend everything will be okay.

*****

They stumble out of the restaurant, Bernie’s arm wrapped haphazardly around Serena’s waist. Serena grips Bernie’s elbow to balance herself. They’re suddenly nose-to-nose and Bernie sucks in a sharp breath. 

The chill in the air sobers them both. 

Serena doesn’t protest when Bernie insists on driving her home. She’s tired and her senses are spinning. The journey is brief. Street lights invade the serenity of the car interior. Bernie grips the steering wheel while Serena sits in the passenger seat and stares openly at her.

The air is electrically charged. If Serena could, she’d stay in this moment. Having Bernie to herself. She knows if she crossed that line, Bernie would follow… but she fears the reaction in the morning. The afterthought. The repentance. Bernie is a creature of the moment. She may follow Serena to bed but she’d find excuses in the morning to keep them separate and Serena can’t handle that kind of rejection.

Bernie pulls into Serena’s drive. They both take a deep breath. Serena unclips her seatbelt. They sit in silence, not looking at each other. So much unsaid, so much tension. They both know it’s a delicate balance. Know there’s so much at stake.

Bernie’s lips long to kiss Serena.

Serena’s fingers blister to touch Bernie.

They restrain themselves. 

Serena opens the car door. “Thanks for the lift,” she mumbles.

They look at each other. Serena knows Bernie wants to kiss her. Knows that if she leans forward, closes the distance then… but she isn’t the one who drew the line. Bernie needs to make a move. She set the restrictions - the ‘keep it confined to theatre’ rule.

Serena counts: one; two; three. Nothing. She steps out of the car. Her hands shake as she slams the door shut and gives a feeble wave to Bernie.

As Bernie reverses onto the road, a chill fills Serena. This is not the ending to the evening that she wanted but she’s getting good at enduring the sound of her heart fracturing.

As she opens her front door, she watches Bernie drive away and wonders how long this charade will continue.


End file.
